Fatal Cover-Up. Lisa Harris

can hide the darkest secrets.”

      “So no other inconsistencies?” he asked, not missing the ache in her voice.

      “I’m not sure. What are you looking for?”

      Joe tapped his foot, knowing he needed to tread carefully. “I’m not sure, actually. I spoke to the chief of police and read the case file. There were things that didn’t add up. Holes in the case. And while there had been a number of other instances where drug money had gone missing over the previous year, they were never linked conclusively to Thomas. The only solid evidence against him was what was found on him that night and a bank account with ten thousand dollars in it.”

      Which meant even though they only had circumstantial evidence, the previous thefts had also been pinned on her husband. How it all related now to his FBI case, he still wasn’t sure, but the more information he had, the better the chances of finding what he was looking for.

      Talia ran her finger along the edge of the table. “The case was closed quickly. At the time I was grateful, but now...”

      “It makes sense. The department would have wanted to keep an internal scandal quiet and make it go away as quickly as possible.”

      “Are you implying there’s a chance Thomas might have been innocent?”

      “I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions, and in all honesty, your husband’s death isn’t my case.” He tried to backtrack, but it was already too late. The seed had been planted in her mind. “My job is to find the stolen artwork, return it to the rightful owners and in the process help keep it out of the cartel’s hands.”

      She leaned forward. “But from what you know—with the inconsistencies of the case—is it possible someone was covering something up and framed Thomas?”

      “I can’t answer that.”

      Joe finished the last sip of his espresso. He couldn’t blame her for grabbing on to the slightest thread of hope that her husband was innocent. That wasn’t why he was here. But still...

      “Tell me what you were told about the day your husband was murdered.”

      “His boss came to me the day after Thomas’s death with the details. He told me that Thomas and his partner had been called to check on a possible meth house with two other officers.” As she spoke, he caught the lack of emotion in her voice. It was as if she was simply a reporter spewing out the news. Not the grieving widow of the victim. “The officers swept the house. No one was there, but it was full of equipment for cooking meth along with a large amount of cash and other stolen goods. Apparently Thomas heard something in the back of the house while they were busy securing the property. The other officers heard a shot. Thomas was dead by the time they found his body. The bullet had gone through his temple, killing him instantly. The back door was open, but they never found who’d killed him. But they did find ten thousand dollars in cash stuffed under his bulletproof vest. Later they discovered other stolen evidence hidden in the trunk of his car, and a bank account that pointed to the fact that this hadn’t been the first time.”

      “I can’t imagine what you went through,” he said, not missing the pain in her voice.

      “They brought me in, wanting to prove I knew what he was doing, which I didn’t. They tore our apartment apart from top to bottom, but never found anything.”

      “You said you gave some of your husband’s personal things to your mother-in-law?” If she’d seen the paintings, there had to be a way to trace where they’d gone.

      “Yes.”

      “Do you think she might have them?”

      Talia shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I never asked her what she did with his things. Thomas’s family lives in Venice, but his parents are out of the country on a cruise right now. I could try to get a hold of them and ask her if she remembers.”

      He caught the doubt surfacing in her eyes, as if she was trying to decide if she could trust him. And he couldn’t blame her.

      “Talia, I—”

      Her phone went off. She pulled it out of her pocket and clicked on the incoming message. He watched her face go pale as she stared at the screen. She shoved the phone across the table for him to read.

      You really should have done what you were told.

      He read the message, then scrolled through the two photos that were attached. One was of Thomas’s body at the crime scene from the night he’d been murdered. The second was a photo of them sitting at the café.

      Every fiber of his being was on alert as he glanced around the open café. But looking for someone with a camera was like looking for a specific piece of hay in a haystack. Almost everyone around them was a tourist with either a camera or a cell phone.

      “Do you recognize anyone?” he asked. “Maybe the man who tried to swipe your bag.”

      “I don’t know... I don’t think so.” She shoved back her chair, and slung her bag across her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

      “Talia, please wait. You don’t understand what you’re up against—”

      “I just need to go.”

      A second later, she disappeared into the crowd. He grabbed a couple of bills from his wallet, dropped them onto the table and hurried after her.

      * * *

      Talia searched the narrow street as she hurried toward the subway past the row of shops and restaurants and apartment buildings. She shouldn’t have left the café, but she wasn’t sure she could trust Joe. She wanted to. He seemed an honest man. But so had Thomas until she’d found out the truth about him. Which was why for three years, she’d done everything she knew to put the past behind her and forget. But now suddenly, in the last twenty-four hours every memory and fear she’d had after his death was being dredged up.

      I don’t want to go back there, God.

      Not now. Not ever.

      She’d accepted the fact that her husband had betrayed her trust. She’d even accepted his death. But it had completely changed her life, and the way people looked at her. There were those who thought there was no way she didn’t know what he’d been involved in. Others simply felt sorry for her. And even though she’d finally healed to the point that she was able to go on with her life, it didn’t mean that the familiar apprehensions didn’t sometimes rise to the surface.

      She wove her way through a group of young people standing at the top of the stairs that led to the underground Metro. She needed to leave, and get away from Rome. But where would she go? She had friends, but she didn’t want to get them involved. And the only person here who knew what was going on was Joe Bryant.

      But could she rely on him?

      She hurried down the stairs toward the subway platform through the throng of commuters waiting to get onto the next train. The ground was scattered with cigarette butts. Advertisements were pasted onto the walls. She quickly stepped into the car before the doors slammed shut, then let out a sharp breath of air. A street musician began playing the accordion in the corner of the crowded space as she grabbed on to the metal pole in order to keep her balance. She should feel safe, but even surrounded by people, she had to fight the urge to run. They were out there somewhere. Watching her. Following her...

      A group of students chattered in the corner. A woman bounced a toddler in her lap. A businessman talked loudly on his cell phone. Her surroundings faded and were replaced by memories. The day they told her Thomas was dead. The day she buried him. The day she’d sat in the interrogation room for hour after hour, answering their questions. The police had eventually dismissed the possibility of her involvement, but there had still been lingering questions. How could she not have known? She was, after all, his wife.

      She fought to push away the memories. She could go home, pack up a bag and take a train to Naples. Or maybe she’d go across the border into France. But that would only delay